Orange Sky
by Walter
Summary: When Ryan can’t deal with his past, his relationships with the Cohens suffer the consequences.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. The title comes from the song "Orange Sky" by Alexi Murdoch.

Summary: When Ryan can't deal with his past, his relationships with the Cohens suffer the consequences. This story came from a challenge issued by Maud at the TWoP forums a month or so ago. It takes place sometime after The Countdown (although I pretend that Hailey doesn't exist). There will be five chapters.

Author's note: Maud is my amazing beta, and I could never thank her enough. She worked her ass off helping me get this story right. And thanks, as always, to the Ryan thread at TWoP. I am constantly in awe of the collective insight there.

Chapter 1

There were times when being caught at the dinner table with the Cohens felt like dancing to Ryan—he liked the music, but everyone else already had a partner and he had never learned any of the moves. And besides, he didn't dance. The Cohens, they were dancers. They all knew the same steps and, more often than not, they weren't going to let a wallflower like Ryan sit one out. He half hoped tonight would be an exception.

Ryan wasn't feeling particularly moody or antisocial, just tired. He slouched in his chair and ate slowly, sucking on his fork between mouthfuls of the spinach and mushroom casserole Rosa had prepared for dinner. The rest of the Cohens, well really only Seth, were engaged in a loud, raucous conversation that Ryan was only vaguely paying attention to. He kept his head down and his eyes on his food. He knew the Cohens could tell when he wasn't up for talking.

"Ryan, what were you doing while all this was going on?" Sandy asked.

Tonight, apparently, they didn't care whether or not he wanted to talk. Ryan blinked and paused with his fork in his mouth.

"Uh-"

"I told you, Dad. Ryan was the one driving. He was practically leading the rebellion," Seth said, raising one fist in the air as if to punctuate a battle cry.

"It was awesome," Seth went on. "That cashier, she was going to make everyone pay $30 to get their cars out of the parking lot, which was all kinds of wrong. So I'm there fighting with her at the window, and we've got all these people behind us in line yelling at her for the same thing, and Ryan just gets in the car and honks the horn and next thing I know it we're driving up on the curb. He actually drove around the security booth. You should've seen that guard screaming at us."

"You drove my Range Rover over a curb and around a security guard?" Kirsten looked more shocked than angry, for now. Her eyes darted between Seth and Ryan, sitting across from each other. Ryan wanted to kick Seth under the table, but he couldn't reach his legs that far.

"Well, we-" he started to explain.

"C'mon, Mom, they were gonna make us pay $30," Seth interrupted. "Just because they don't make it clear what time the garage closes doesn't mean we should have to pay. Besides, it was awesome. After we got out there was this whole line of cars waiting to do the same thing. It was a total rebellion. Dude, we're already on our way to world domination."

Ryan just shook his head and gave up. He risked a glance at Sandy, who was laughing behind a napkin, clearly impressed by their antics but trying hard not to make it obvious in front of his wife. Kirsten, at the opposite end of the table, shook her head, but Ryan thought she was smiling when she looked down at her plate.

"First my car gets trashed at the IMAX. Now this. I don't think you two should go to movies anymore," she said.

"What do you expect when you're making me grow up on the mean streets of Orange County?" Seth said. "I keep telling Ryan we should just stick to his 'hood, where, you know, they've got drive-bys and car-jackings but at least no one'll key your car."

"That's not true," Ryan spoke up. "Someone once stole the hood ornament off my mom's Honda."

"They stole a hood ornament off a Honda?" Seth asked. "That's just, well, that's just sad."

Ryan shrugged and they managed to eat in silence for a few minutes before Seth pushed back from the table and carried his plate to the kitchen. Dinner was over. Ryan breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"Is everything okay, Ryan?" He looked up. Kirsten was watching him over the rim of her glass of wine.

"Yeah, it's fine."

"You seem kind of quiet tonight," she said. Seth laughed from the kitchen.

"Mom-"

She didn't give him a chance to finish.

"More quiet than usual," she corrected with a smile. Kirsten set down her glass and studied Ryan for a moment. "You just seem a little tired."

"Yeah, I am," he admitted. "Coach kept us after practice for an hour today, running sprints."

"Can you blame him after that game last weekend?" Sandy said. He balled his napkin and dropped it on his plate, then stood up and joined Seth in the kitchen.

"Yeah, I know, we kind of sucked."

"Kind of?" Seth called from the kitchen. "Dude, you couldn't have done any worse if I was playing."

"Seth, come on. They weren't that bad," Sandy said, laughing.

"You done?" Ryan asked, turning to Kirsten. She smiled and handed him her plate. In the kitchen, Ryan rinsed the plates that had been stacked in the sink and started loading the dishwasher. Sandy began clearing off the rest of the table when his cell phone rang, and he stepped into the den to answer it.

"I've got orals tomorrow in French," Seth said, backing out of the kitchen. "Because, you know, otherwise I'd offer to take out the trash. Or something."

"Sure you would," Kirsten said, waving him off.

Kirsten carried over the rest of the dishes, piling them in the sink and rinsing them at Ryan's side. She'd long ago stopped telling him he didn't have to help out with chores. They worked silently, Kirsten handing him plates and glasses and silverware as she finished rinsing. He wondered if they knew how much he enjoyed these simple tasks, these small, everyday comforts that made him feel part of their home.

Ryan filled the dispenser with detergent and closed the dishwasher. When he turned around, Sandy was standing in the doorway. His face had lost all the playfulness from dinner and for a moment Ryan wondered if he was in trouble. He glanced back over his shoulder at Kirsten, who looked just as confused as he felt. Sandy took a deep breath and walked to the kitchen counter.

"That was your mom," he said.

Ryan felt his stomach drop and his mouth go dry.

"What'd she want?" he managed to ask.

"She wants to see you."

Ryan nodded slightly and glanced away. He could feel Kirsten and Sandy watching him. He knew that if he looked up at their faces he'd see that they were worried for him. He had to get away.

"Thanks," he mumbled, and walked out of the house.

+++++

His breaths were coming in short, uneven puffs by the time he made it back to the pool house and Ryan could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He clenched his fists at his sides, muscles in his hands and arms and jaw working to repel the thoughts swarming in his head.

Why now? Why when everything was just starting to settle, when he was almost calm and safe and normal?

A short rap on one of the windows paused Ryan mid-stride. He folded his arms over his chest and kept his back to the door. He blinked hard and fast, focusing his gaze on the light fixture in the corner and the way the buttery yellow glow cast heavy shadows on the walls.

"You mind if I come in?" It was Sandy. Ryan didn't respond, kept his eyes on the light. The door clicked shut behind him. "You don't have to see her."

Ryan swallowed once and let his eyes drift to the ceiling. "I know," he said, his voice small.

"In fact," and Ryan could feel Sandy walking toward him now, stopping before he got too close, "I think it might be best if you didn't."

Ryan clutched his arms close to his body, wrapping himself up in the long sleeves of the sweater Kirsten had bought him for Christmas. He suddenly wished for his jacket, wanting nothing more than the familiar smell and crackle of the worn leather.

"Look, you don't have to decide tonight. Or tomorrow." Sandy wasn't going to push him, and for that Ryan allowed a small sigh of relief. He took a deep breath and unfolded himself, turning slowly to face Sandy. He rubbed at his wrist cuff and looked just beyond Sandy's right knee, his head down.

"Just think about it," Sandy said. Ryan chewed on the inside of his cheek. He risked a quick glance up at Sandy and was shaken by a penetrating stare in return. Sometimes he didn't know how to read Sandy. Tonight he couldn't let himself trust the compassion he saw. Ryan nodded once, quickly, and looked down again.

"Goodnight," Sandy said, his voice warm. He never lost that warmth, and Ryan sometimes wondered where it came from, that kindness that seemed so honest. Ryan stood still in the center of his room for a long time after Sandy had left. For the first time in nearly a month, he checked his old backpack before going to bed. He wanted to make sure his jacket was still there.

+++++

By morning Ryan had pushed the phone call from his mother to the back of his mind, and he woke exhausted from a restless night but ready to move on again. He arrived late for breakfast in the Cohen kitchen, grabbing a handful of cereal and a quick swallow of juice as he hustled with Seth out the door, and ignoring the glances that Kirsten kept darting in his direction. She didn't say anything, and Ryan was able to escape with only a muttered "morning" and "bye." In Sandy's car on the way to school, Seth took care of all the talking, and Ryan stared out the window and let his thoughts buzz away with Seth's droning voice.

He kept his head low and his mouth shut at school. He was able to shut Marissa down with mention of a test in math that afternoon. He had studied plenty for it the night before, determined to drive away all thoughts of his mom, but he let Marissa believe he was unprepared and watched with some relief as she fluttered down the hall with Summer, smiling and laughing among the throngs of kids. Seth wasn't as easy to shake, and so Ryan agreed to lunch with him, asking pointed questions about Summer and Anna. If Seth knew he was being guided through the conversation, he didn't say anything, and he didn't press Ryan about his mom.

And so he made it through one day.

It was a five days before his mom called again. This time she actually asked to speak to him and Ryan, conscious of the worried frowns on both Sandy and Kirsten's faces, agreed to talk to her. He took the cell phone from Sandy and shuffled to the living room, where he sat in front of the cold fireplace.

"Hey, Mom."

"Oh, baby, hi. How are you? I miss you."

"I miss you too," he said, already on automatic.

"I've been thinking about you, and how we left things-"

"How you left things," he said.

"I know. I know, kiddo, and I'm sorry. I, well, you know I made a mistake. A lot of mistakes. And I don't expect you to forgive me, or want to see me. But I miss you, and I thought maybe…" she trailed off. Ryan could hear her crying already, and he wondered if she'd been drinking.

He sighed. He felt so tired suddenly and he bowed his head. "Maybe what, Mom?" 

"I just thought that we might be able to talk, work things out."

"We're talking now."

"I know, but, I want to see you, Ry. Can we do that? Can you see me?"

She was crying for real now, her voice breaking.

"You never even called, Mom," he said, struggling to keep the frustration out of his voice, to keep himself calm. He knew the Cohens were in the other room.

"I know, I meant to, I wanted to, but then I just left, and the drinking, and I'd messed everything up, I'd ruined everything."

"So why now? Why should I talk to you now?"

"Because I love you, and I miss you."

Ryan squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the phone against his ear until it hurt.

"Ryan…"

"Okay," he said finally, a whisper.

"Oh, baby, I-"

"Okay," he repeated, louder, hoping she wouldn't say anything else.

"Okay," she echoed. She sniffled loudly and he couldn't shake the image of her face, wet and crumpled, making her look older than she should. "Do you want me to meet you there? Come to their house?"

"No," he said, firm, and then softer: "No. I'll come to you." He was not letting her back in. She would not be a part of this life.

"All right, whatever you say. Can I see you this weekend?"

It was Friday. She wanted to see him right away. He took a deep breath, held it, blew it out slowly. He wiped a sweaty palm on his jeans.

"Yeah, fine," he said. She gave him an address. He memorized it and didn't ask for directions. He'd look it up later.

"Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Ryan said. She hung up without saying goodbye.

The dial tone buzzing in his ear, Ryan fought the urge to heave the phone across the room. If he'd been home, with his mom, he would have done it. He would have been yelling by now or walking out of the house. But he wasn't home with his mom, and that was the point.

Ryan glanced down at his lap. He was clutching the phone so hard that his hands were shaking. He set it down carefully, then closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. Any moment now Sandy or Kirsten, or both, would come looking for him, and he couldn't face them like this, not with his emotions so close to the surface. He willed himself to calm down and think about something else—another math test, or his history project, or Seth's newest video game.

When he looked up, Sandy and Kirsten were standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He tried to smile, but when they didn't return the gesture he knew he'd failed. Kirsten had her arms crossed over her chest and her posture was tight and anxious. He hated that he'd made her feel that way.

"How's she doing?" Sandy asked. Ryan refused to look him in the eye. He didn't want to see the concern he'd heard in Sandy's voice painted on his face. He shrugged in reply.

"She wants to see me," he said, a rehash of the conversation they'd had only a few nights earlier. "I said I would."

"You don't have to," Sandy said. But they'd been through all this before. And Ryan knew he didn't have to but he also knew that he would anyway, so he might as well get it over with.

"I know," he said.

"Maybe one of us could go with you," Kirsten suggested. Her voice was so soft and kind, and Ryan really didn't want to be drawing comparisons between his mother and Kirsten, but it was hard not to. His mom would never give him choices.

"No, thanks, but it's fine. I'm fine." He stood up and walked across the room, handing the phone to Sandy.

"When are you meeting?" Sandy asked as he slid the phone into a pocket.

"Tomorrow."

"So soon?" Kirsten said, and her hand fluttered toward her face, then settled on her neck. "You'll need to take my car."

"I don't have to. I mean, I could take a bus, or-"

"No, of course not," Kirsten said. "I don't need it tomorrow anyway. Take your time."

"You're sure you want to do this?" Sandy asked. He set a hand on Ryan's shoulder, and Ryan hoped Sandy couldn't feel the way his muscles tensed, the way his arms were shaking.

"Yeah, no, it's fine. It'll be good."

Ryan knew they could hear the uncertainty in his voice, but he didn't care. He just wanted to get away from them, escape to the pool house and his books or laptop or a video game or anything that didn't involve his mom and this family that treated him too well.

"Okay," Sandy said, and squeezed his shoulder before letting go. "Hey, we were going to watch a movie tonight, something Seth rented. You should join us."

"Nah, I, um, I've got some studying, a lot of reading to do. Before Monday." Ryan shifted on his feet. He would have to squeeze by them to escape the kitchen. "But, thanks."

"All right then, we'll see you in the morning." Sandy and Kirsten parted for him, allowing him room to walk past. Ryan turned when he was halfway through the kitchen.

"'Night," he said, and offered a small wave. They both smiled at him, but he thought they looked sad. Ryan didn't smile in return before he walked out of the house.

+++++

Ryan arrived at the restaurant 10 minutes early and sat in Kirsten's car watching his mom work. She was covering the counter, where men sat alone drinking coffee and reading newspapers. His mom looked tired, even from a distance. Her hair was pulled away from her face and she seemed older than he remembered. She spilled two mugs of coffee, her head disappearing behind the counter when she dropped to her knees to wipe up the mess.

Ryan wanted to turn around and drive home. He still could. He didn't owe her anything. He reached for the keys and twisted them out of the ignition.

He paused just inside the door of the restaurant. His mom was at the far end of the counter, setting a plate in front of an elderly man. The man didn't look up at his mother, and she immediately turned around to grab another plate from the cook. Ryan wondered if she'd remembered he was coming.

"Can I help you?"

Ryan jerked in surprise at the cheerful voice to his left. The waitress was small, her dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She smiled at him.

"Uh, no," he said. "Or yeah. I'm here for my…for Dawn." He tipped his chin toward the counter.

"Oh, you must be Ryan," the waitress chirped. "Dawn's kid? She told us you'd be stopping by."

Ryan nodded.

"Take a seat. I'll let her know you're here."

"Thanks," Ryan said. He picked a booth in the corner after debating whether he'd rather be close to the door or as far away from the other customers as he could get. Once seated, he clasped his hands under the table to keep them from shaking, and stared out into the parking lot at Kirsten's car, where the sun was reflecting off the windshield. He could still leave. It wasn't too late.

"Hi."

Ryan glanced down at the table first before turning to his mother. She stood a few steps back from the booth, tugging on her hands in a way that faintly reminded him of Kirsten, although his mom looked more guilty than nervous when she did it. She watched him uncertainly, and when she finally approached to slide into the booth across from him, he leaned back, away from the table.

"It's good to see you," she said, folding her arms on the table and tapping the fingers of one hand. "You look good."

Ryan kept his body turned slightly away from her, watching her without having to face her full on. He didn't say anything.

"Ryan, I'm sorry."

"Don't," he said, abruptly, his voice louder than he'd planned. He didn't want to hear any of it. Not now. He repeated, softer: "Just, don't."

"Okay," she said. She sat back in the booth, fidgety and anxious, her eyes all over the restaurant. He waited, not sure what he was supposed to say, and not wanting to make this any easier for her.

"So how've you been?" she asked, her eyes finally settling on him. Ryan ducked his head and shrugged.

"Good."

"School's good? You're doing good?"

"Yeah, it's all right."

"You were always good in math, right? How are you doing in math?"

"Fine, Mom," he said, his voice even and flat. He wasn't going to play. She recoiled and tugged at her fingers again.

"Trey said you have a girlfriend."

Ryan glanced at his mom before casting his eyes to the table. He didn't want to talk about school or Marissa or why she'd abandoned him to strangers. He wasn't interested in anything she had to say, and she'd certainly never listened to him in the past.

"Did you get my Christmas present? The shirt?"

"Yeah."

"It fit?"

He nodded. From the corner of his eye Ryan saw the sad smile on her face, and knew that she could tell he was lying.

"I meant to get you something-" he started.

"No, it's fine," she said. "You're busy. And you've got other people to think about now."

Her eyes were watering, teary, and Ryan looked away. He wanted to leave. The sunlight was still twinkling off Kirsten's car outside. He didn't have to stay. He didn't have to do this.

The chirpy waitress arrived at their table, grinning at their reunion and apparently oblivious to the tension. Ryan wondered what his mom had told her. She winked at Ryan and he lowered his head again.

"What do you guys want for lunch?" she asked.

"Oh," his mom said, surprised by the interruption. "Um, I don't know. Ryan, what do you want?"

"Not hungry," he said.

"C'mon, sweetie." His mom kept darting her eyes between Ryan and the waitress. She was embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushing. "How about we just split some fries?"

"Yeah, fine."

"And a milkshake. Two milkshakes. Chocolate." Ryan caught her eye and frowned. "Don't worry, I've got it," she said, waving a nervous hand. They would take it out of her paycheck. Ryan had cash on him, but he didn't offer to pay. He would refuse to pay if she asked. Now he was lying to himself.

The waitress smiled at them again, winking at his mom this time, and practically skipped away from the table. Ryan turned and stared outside. His mom was tapping her fingers again. Part of him wanted to reach across the table and slap her hands, pinning them to the table so she couldn't move, and yell at her and demand answers. Most of him just wanted to run. He couldn't remember why he'd agreed to come at all. He wasn't sure that there'd ever been a reason.

"Look, I should really go."

"No, stay a little longer," she said. She reached across the table as though to grab his hands or arms and pull him to her, and he huddled back into the booth, the plastic squeaking with his movement. His mom paused and he could see the desperation flashing across her face as she struggled to come up with something to keep him there.

"Tell me about your girlfriend," she said. "Is she cute? Does she go to your school?"

"Mom-"

"Don't go yet," she said. "I've only got another 10 minutes for lunch. Just stay a little while longer."

Ryan glanced at his watch. He'd only been there 15 minutes. She'd set aside less than half an hour for him. He got up from the booth and his mom stood too, and for a moment they faced each other. His mom's mouth twisted as she held back tears. He realized he was breathing heavy, uncertain when that had started, and he pushed past her and toward the door, passing the waitress with her plate of fries and two milkshakes. He didn't pause outside and walked straight to Kirsten's car, nearly running. His mom called to him as he fumbled with the keys, pressing the wrong button to open the door and setting of the alarm instead.

Ryan slapped at the door in frustration. He found the right button on the key chain to turn off the alarm, and rested his head against the window. Through the windshield, he could see his mom standing in the door of the restaurant. She walked to him, slowly, reaching into a pocket on her apron as she approached.

"Here, I wanted to give this to you," she said.

He closed his eyes a moment before stepping away from the car and reaching out to her. It was a photograph. He'd seen it before, many times. He was a baby, just a few months old probably, sitting up on a blanket in the middle of a floor. Someone was standing beside him, but all he could see were the shoes. It was his father. Ryan was staring up, presumably at his dad but it was impossible to tell from the picture. It had been one of maybe three or four pictures that his mom had kept framed in their various homes, usually on top of the TV.

"I don't want it," he said, and pushed it back to her.

"No, keep it." She clasped her hands together, refusing to take the picture back. Ryan shrugged and put the photo in his back pocket. "There are others. I think you should have them."

Ryan sighed.

"We don't need to do this."

"I want to," she said.

He didn't want this, this exchange of memories, this reconnecting. But she didn't know that, or she didn't care.

"I can't," he said.

"Please, just let me do this. That's all I want," his mom said, and he didn't believe her. "You have a better life now, Ryan. It's everything I ever wanted for you. I just don't want you to forget your old one."

He nearly laughed. There was no way he would ever forget, although he would try.

"What do you want from me?" He'd asked her that before, and she'd never been able to answer him. She didn't look like she was even going to try this time. He turned back to the car and opened the front door. When she grabbed his arm he turned sharply.

"I'm your mom, Ryan," she said. "I'm a crappy mom, I always was, but I loved you. Just let me try to do something good for you."

"You already did." She winced at that and he wanted to smile.

He recognized the anger on her face now, the way she squinted her eyes and folded her lips into a fine, pale line, the way her cheeks puffed out and flushed. He pulled his arm away and climbed into the car. He had no reason to deal with this now, not when he had an escape, somewhere else to go. He started the engine and reached out to close the front door.

"Ryan, wait." His mom was standing in the open door, and he'd have to slam it on her, hurt her, to close it now. He wanted to. He waited instead. "Look, I've still got all of your stuff, from the old house, when I, when we…"

"When you packed up and left me a note?"

She was wringing her hands again and blinking back tears, the anger washed away as quickly as it had arrived. She nodded.

"It's all in a box. Your clothes, and books, everything that was in your room."

"Keep it," he said. "I don't want it anymore."

"Please, Ryan. Give me another chance." She was begging. Her voice was shaking.

"Mom…"

"I know I don't deserve it," she said. "I don't expect you to come back, or to live with me or anything like that. I just want to see you, and talk to you. That's all."

Ryan closed his eyes. She was right, she didn't deserve another chance. That time had come and gone.

"I'm doing better now," she said. "A lot better. I've got a job." And here she laughed, a hysterical, high-pitched laugh that made Ryan grip the steering wheel. "But you knew that, about the job. I'm not drinking, I'm not using. You don't have to forgive me, just talk to me."

He lifted his head slowly. She wiped tears off her cheeks, smudging the makeup at the corner of one eye. She tried to smile and came up with a wide, toothy grin that matched her hysterical laugh. She wanted this to happen. It was important to her. What he wanted didn't matter.

"Fine," he said, and he felt all of the tension in his body slip away, leaving him empty. His shoulders slumped and he let his hands fall from the steering wheel. He dropped his head, his eyes focused on a CD case Seth had left on the floor of the car.

"You're sure, sweetie?" She didn't wait for an answer, just leaned forward and gripped his arm. He flinched but she didn't seem to notice. "How about next weekend? Maybe you could come over for dinner? Even spend the night? You haven't seen my new place. It isn't big, but there's plenty of room for you to stay."

He nodded absently. His face felt numb.

"Okay," he said. "Next weekend."

Before she could reply, he reached out and tugged the door toward him, trying to shut her out. She backed up immediately, allowing him to close the door. She called out to him through the window, her voice muffled.

"I'll call you tomorrow," she said. In the rearview mirror, he saw her standing alone in the middle of the parking lot as he drove away.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Ryan was tempted to sneak around the back of the house and head straight to the pool house when he got back to Newport, but he had to return Kirsten's car keys. He hoped to escape through the kitchen without running into any of the Cohens. They would all have questions about his mom that he couldn't, or didn't want to, answer.

No one was in the front of the house when Ryan opened the main door. But as soon as he stepped around the living room couch, he saw Seth, sitting with his back to him at the kitchen table. Ryan glanced at his watch. It was nearly 3. Seth was probably waiting for him. Ryan sighed and walked into the kitchen. Seth jumped in his seat when Ryan tossed the keys onto the counter where Kirsten usually kept them.

"Hey," Seth said, twisting in the chair to nod at Ryan. He was clearly making an attempt at "casual." Ryan almost smiled at the effort.

"Hey," he returned. Ryan opened the refrigerator and found a soda. He considered making a sandwich too, but it would be hard enough to shake Seth's questions without a sandwich to tie him to the kitchen.

"So, how'd it go? With your mom."

"Good," Ryan said, popping open the soda with a loud crack. He took a long swallow, the carbonation making his eyes water. "What're you reading?"

"Nothing. An old X-Men." Seth closed the comic in front of him and pushed it away. "Come on, man, tell me how it went. You hadn't seen your mom in, what, five months?"

"Six."

"Yeah, six," Seth said. He pulled out the chair next to his at the table and patted the seat. "What'd you guys talk about?"

Ryan frowned at Seth and took another swig from his soda. He didn't move to take the seat, instead turning to face the counter. He set the can down and looked out the kitchen window, letting his eyes unfocus as he stared out over the ocean. He had no idea what to tell Seth. He didn't have any of the right answers, not for himself or anyone else. He didn't know how to explain why he had agreed to see her again, after everything she'd put him through.

He shot a sideways glance at Seth, who was watching him but, surprisingly, not saying anything. He was giving Ryan space, letting him choose his words. Realizing that Seth knew how to work him was both comforting and unsettling at once, and Ryan quickly shifted his gaze back outside.

"Nothing, really," Ryan said. He turned and leaned sideways against the counter. "She asked about school, and Marissa. If I'm happy here."

"Are you?"

Ryan glared at Seth.

"Yeah, of course. Sorry. What else?"

"I don't know. Nothing. Her job. That kind of thing."

Ryan finished off his soda and walked around the counter to drop it in the recycling bin. He was closer to the back door now. He could walk out with a decent excuse.

"You gonna see her again?"

Ryan glanced sharply at Seth, who was staring at the table now, fingering the pages of his comic. When Ryan didn't answer right away, Seth looked up, a concerned frown on his face. He already knew the answer.

"Yeah, I don't know," Ryan said. "I think so."

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"I don't know," Ryan snapped. He didn't know, and he didn't need more people doubting him.

"Is she still drinking?"

Ryan looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. He didn't need this conversation. It wasn't doing anyone any good. None of it mattered anyway.

"No," he said. "I don't think so. She said she wasn't."

"That's what she said before." Seth's voice was soft. He knew he was pushing.

"You think I don't know that?" Ryan spat. "Look, I don't trust her, but she's my mom. I can't just turn my back on her."

"She turned her back on you."

And now he had pushed too far, and they both knew it. Ryan blinked up at the ceiling before moving to the back door.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry," Seth said, standing up from the table and pushing back his chair with a loud scrape. He rested a hand on Ryan's shoulder, trying to turn him around. Ryan shrugged the hand off and with one glare at Seth, escaped through the back door. Seth didn't follow.

+++++

Ryan was huddled on his bed, a math book open in his lap and a pencil stuck in his mouth, when the downpour started. The rain came suddenly and with a violence that was almost frightening, the water slapping against the pool house windows and pounding on the roof. He looked up from his math homework and watched the surface of the pool churn under the onslaught. He'd always been mildly afraid of rainstorms, even without the thunder and lightening. He didn't like the way the water echoed off the roof, rough and loud. But at the same time he found storms oddly comforting, and he enjoyed watching the rain fall from the warmth and security of his bed.

The storm must have moved in quickly. Ryan hadn't even been aware of the skies clouding over as the afternoon passed. After returning to the pool house, he'd slid off his shoes and settled down with a stack of weekend homework. Math was only second on his list, and he still had a good hour's worth of trigonometry ahead of him. He sighed and chewed on his pencil.

The phone rang a moment later, just as Ryan was beginning to scratch out an attempt at an equation. He scowled at the paper and glanced at the phone to check the caller ID. It was from Marissa.

"Hey."

"Hello?" Sandy's voice echoed Ryan's before Marissa had a chance to speak.

"I've got it," Ryan said.

The other line clicked.

"When are you getting your own phone line?" Marissa said, laughing.

"Don't need one. You're the only person who calls me," Ryan said. He pushed his book off his lap and leaned back on the bed.

"Well, I guess that's good," Marissa said. He could hear the smile in her voice. She was in a good mood, and he smiled too.

"So what's up?" he asked.

"You tell me. I've been trying to reach you all day. Don't you ever return phone calls?"

"Sorry. No one told me you'd called." Seth was usually pretty good about passing on messages, but he'd obviously been distracted that afternoon.

"Where were you?" she asked.

"Just out. I've been studying."

"I think you've had enough studying," she said. "Let's go out tonight"

"What'd you have in mind?"

"I don't know. Dinner. A movie. Your place."

"Sounds good," Ryan said. "When?"

"Thirty minutes?"

"I'll meet you out front," he said.

"You don't have to-"

"No, I don't want you to get wet," Ryan said quickly.

"Okay then, I'll meet you outside in 30 minutes."

"Good."

"I love you," she said.

"Love you too."

Ryan felt instantly cheered, and mostly relieved, to have an excuse to leave the house. He wasn't yet ready to face Sandy and Kirsten and talk about his mom. Seth had been bad enough. But Marissa didn't know he'd seen his mom, and she wouldn't ask questions. They would spend dinner talking about her parents, or school, or maybe Seth and Summer and Anna. Then silence for the movie. Then the pool house, where the last thing they'd be doing was talking. He would put off the Cohens until tomorrow, and by then he'd be under control, the emotional upheaval of lunch with his mom a vague memory.

Ryan allowed himself a long shower, and he shaved and brushed his teeth even though he didn't really need to. He took his time picking out fresh clothes, settling on a gray shirt he knew Marissa liked and black corduroy pants. He was lacing his boots when someone knocked on the pool house door. Ryan looked up to see a smudged, yellow figure standing outside. He got up and opened the door to reveal Seth, dressed in a yellow slicker, yellow boots and a wide-brimmed yellow hat.

"It's like five steps from the back door to the pool house. What's with the yellow?"

"It's pouring out here," Seth practically yelled, as if trying to be heard over the rain. "I don't like getting wet. So you gonna let me in or what?"

"No."

"Dude, if this is about-"

"You'll drip all over the floor, Seth."

Seth stood in surprise for a moment, staring at Ryan as though trying to figure out if he was being serious. Then he tried to nudge his way into the pool house, but Ryan held his ground.

"Come on, let me in. I'm melting out here."

Ryan laughed and stood aside.

"Fine, but I'm leaving."

"Look, seriously, if you're still mad-"

"I'm not mad," Ryan said, and he meant it. "I've got a date with Marissa. I'm supposed to meet her out front in like one minute."

"Oh," Seth said simply. He was dripping all over the place, and Ryan realized he'd actually been serious about not wanting Seth to get water everywhere. He was considering grabbing a towel from the bathroom when Seth spoke up again. "I was hoping we could hang out tonight. Maybe play some video games, talk."

"Yeah, sorry," Ryan said. "I'll be around tomorrow."

"Okay, that's cool." They stood in silence for a moment, Seth dripping, Ryan watching the water puddle on the floor. "So are we, you know, cool? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Ryan said. "I'm sorry, about earlier. I just…"

"No, yeah, it's fine. I understand," Seth said. "I'm sorry, about what I said. I didn't mean, you know…"

"Yeah."

More silence. More dripping.

"So, you probably need to go," Seth said, turning back to the door.

"Yeah, I should." Ryan followed Seth, grabbing a jacket on his way out.

"You want to borrow my hat? To keep your hair dry?"

Ryan laughed and shook his head.

"You know I don't wear hats."

"Oh. Right."

"But thanks."

"Sure. No problem. I need it anyway. You know, because my hair so does not do well in the rain. All the frizz. It isn't pretty."

Ryan followed Seth into the main house. Sandy was standing at the kitchen counter, and when he and Kirsten exchanged a look, Ryan wondered if they'd been talking about him before he'd walked in. But before either of them said anything to him, Kirsten was distracted by her son.

"Seth, you're dripping all over my floor," she scolded. "Take off those clothes."

"All right," Seth said, and started to march out of the kitchen.

"Seth." He looked up and she pointed out the back door. "Outside."

"But Mom-"

"Now."

Seth grumbled something incoherent but obeyed. Ryan glanced up to see Sandy grinning. Kirsten grabbed two dish towels and threw them on the floor where Seth had been standing.

"You going out?" Sandy asked.

"Yeah," Ryan said.

"Marissa?" Sandy asked. Ryan nodded. "Good. Have a good time."

"Thanks." Ryan waited, but when no one said anything else, he headed out of the kitchen. He was almost free when Sandy spoke up again.

"You okay?"

Ryan paused, then nodded with his back to them.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"So it went well? Are you going to see her again?"

Ryan swallowed, and looked over his shoulder at Sandy. He could feel Kirsten watching him from across the room, but Sandy was looking at a newspaper he'd laid out on the counter.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Okay," Sandy said, finally looking up at Ryan. He smiled, his face open. "We'll talk more about it tomorrow."

"Yeah, okay," Ryan said. He offered them a small wave, and walked away. Marissa was waiting for him.

+++++

Ryan managed to hide away in the pool house until late the next morning, and it was nearly noon before he decided he had better check in with the main house before someone came looking for him. The kitchen was empty when he stepped inside, and the only Cohen he spotted was Seth, playing video games on the floor in the den. Ryan nodded hello and poured himself a bowl of cereal.

"How was the movie last night?" Seth asked when Ryan had folded himself onto the floor at his side.

"Who said anything about a movie?" Ryan said. He stuffed a spoonful of cereal in his mouth.

"Because you guys do the same thing every weekend. Dinner and a movie."

Ryan swallowed and shot a scowl at Seth. "We do not."

"Yeah, you do. Seriously, dude. Every time you go out, it's dinner and a movie. Or a party, but if you'd gone to a party you would have invited me because you hate parties."

That was true and Ryan smiled around another bite of cereal.

"So, what movie?"

"I don't know. Some British film. Marissa picked it."

"You don't even know the name?"

Ryan shrugged and swallowed again.

"California Pizza Kitchen for dinner?"

"We're not that predictable," Ryan insisted. Seth looked away from his game long enough to raise his eyebrows at Ryan.

"CPK?" he asked.

Ryan sighed.

"Yeah."

"I knew it," Seth said, grinning in a way that made Ryan want to dump the rest of his cereal over his head. Instead he took another bite.

"Where're your parents?" he asked a moment later.

"Home Depot."

Ryan frowned at Seth, confused.

"Yeah, you don't want to know. My dad's building shelves or something in the garage. He gets these…urges…sometimes. It's just a phase."

Ryan almost laughed out loud at the image of Sandy as a carpenter. He may have been a surfer and the antithesis of Newport culture, but carpentry was pushing it.

"They say when they'll be back?"

Seth shrugged, then swore at the TV when his player died in a bright explosion. He tossed the controller on the floor and stretched his legs in front of him.

"I don't know. A couple hours, I guess. Mom won't let him stay too long. He sort of loses control when he's on one of his binges."

Ryan wasn't normally one to delay the inevitable, but he knew he wasn't yet ready to talk about his mom, not with Sandy or Kirsten or anyone. He didn't even want to think about his mom, or his plans to visit her. He knew Sandy and Kirsten would disapprove, just as Seth had, and he couldn't face that. He couldn't explain it. He didn't want to explain it.

"Let's go out," he said to Seth.

"What?"

"You said you wanted to hang out today. Let's go."

"Outside?"

Ryan stared at him.

"Dude, it's raining," Seth said.

"So? Wear your jacket."

"In Newport? My jacket's yellow. They'd kill me." Seth was looking over Ryan's shoulder, scowling at the rain.

"I won't let them kill you."

Seth was getting fidgety. He picked up the game controller again.

"Let's just stay in. Play video games. Stay dry. Remember my hair? It doesn't like the wet."

"All we ever do is play video games," Ryan said. He stood up to return his empty bowl to the kitchen.

"That's because video games are fun," Seth said, following him. "And dry. As in, not wet."

Ryan set his bowl in the sink and turned to face Seth, folding his arms over his chest. Seth fidgeted some more under Ryan's stare.

"There's nothing to do in the rain," Seth said. "Unless you want to see another movie."

"There's that Russell Crowe movie."

"You already saw it."

"Yeah, but you haven't. It was good, and I want to see it with someone who'll actually appreciate it."

Seth leaned against the counter and studied Ryan for a long moment, until it was Ryan's turn to fidget. He turned back to the sink and rinsed his cereal bowl.

"You're avoiding my parents," Seth said.

Ryan glanced back over his shoulder at Seth but didn't say anything. When he looked away again, Seth sighed.

"Fine. I'll get my jacket," Seth said.

"Don't forget the hat."

+++++

The rain had cleared by Monday morning, and if Ryan's mood didn't quite reflect the bright, sunny days that followed, he wasn't exactly cheerless either. He and Seth had managed to stay out of the house until late Sunday, and the rest of the week he kept himself busy with classes, soccer practices and homework. Nights at the Cohen house were mostly quiet, with Seth and Ryan left alone for dinner, and Seth cramming for an English assignment he'd put off for weeks. Kirsten and Sandy both kept long hours at the office, Kirsten dealing with construction plans that had been soured by the rain, Sandy preparing for a rare case that was actually going to trial.

Ryan's mother didn't call to set up their next visit, and he allowed himself to feel relieved by her negligence. She was the one who was forcing their reunion. It wasn't something he wanted. He refused to be disappointed.

The gray skies reappeared Thursday morning, and by lunchtime the rain had returned. Ryan assumed that his soccer game that afternoon had been cancelled, so he was surprised when he turned up on the field after school to find most of his teammates ready to play. He jogged back to the locker room, changed, and joined the other players in the mud. The rain had been reduced to a drizzle, but after only a few minutes of playing, Ryan's legs were muddy up to his knees and water was dripping off his chin. He was also having a great time.

The entire team was having fun, kicking up mud and slipping in the grass. They played horribly. Players tripped over their own legs and had a terrible time controlling the slick ball. Ryan took a header almost straight in the nose when his vision blurred from the rain falling in his eyes. But he laughed when he fell in the mud, and laughed harder when Luke, trying to help him up, slid and fell with him. Ryan glanced up once in the second half to see that even his coach was smiling, despite the score. They ended up losing the game by three goals. They were lucky it was only the off-season and the game didn't count.

"No way you're getting in my car like that."

Ryan glanced up when he heard the voice call out, and turned to find Sandy, bundled in a trench coat under a black umbrella, standing on the sidelines at the end of the game. Sandy tucked the handle of the umbrella under one arm and clapped as Ryan jogged over.

"Well, that was one of your more interesting games," he said when Ryan stood panting in front of him. Ryan smirked and shook his hair, sending droplets of mud and water in Sandy's direction.

"You came out in this?" Ryan asked, looking up at the sky.

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss it," Sandy said, and Ryan suspected he was serious, despite the wide grin on his face. "Now go get cleaned up so we can go home. It's cold out here and I hate being wet."

"You and Seth," Ryan said. Sandy just grinned in agreement.

"I'll meet you in the car." Ryan nodded and with a quick wave he ran back to the locker rooms, slipping once in the wet grass. Sandy laughed behind him.

Ryan rushed through a shower and bundled his muddy uniform in a plastic bag, borrowed from his coach. Sandy's car felt wonderfully warm and dry when he climbed in 10 minutes later. He dropped his backpack and bag of clothes on the floor and held his hands in front of the heat vent.

"Thanks for coming out," he said as Sandy pulled away from the school. The Cohens only lived a couple miles from the school, and Ryan rarely minded the walk home, but he'd been dreading it that afternoon. It also never failed to surprise him when Sandy showed up to actually watch a game.

"You know I love to watch you play," Sandy said. "Even if you guys do kind of suck."

Ryan would have defended his team, but it was true. Instead he just smiled and ran a hand through his still-wet hair. It was getting long in front. He'd noticed it during the game when his bangs kept falling in his eyes.

They were passing the security booth outside the Cohens' neighborhood when Sandy spoke again.

"I got a call today," he said. "From your mom."

Ryan felt his shoulders tense immediately. He glanced at Sandy, trying to read his expression. Sandy's eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were serious when he turned briefly to face him. Ryan looked away before they could make eye contact, and stared out his window without saying anything.

"She apologized for not calling sooner." Sandy pulled a scrap of paper out of his coat pocket and dropped it on Ryan's knee. A phone number was scribbled on one side. Ryan squeezed the paper in his hand. "She said you should call her back to make plans for this weekend."

Sandy's voice was hard, and Ryan could tell he was disappointed. He didn't know what to say.

"Why didn't you tell us?" The question was gentle. Sandy sounded sad now, and Ryan frowned miserably at the window. He caught his reflection in the glass, dull and blurred, and looked straight ahead instead.

 "I didn't think she'd call." It wasn't quite the truth, but it was close enough. Ryan had hoped she wouldn't call. He had hoped to avoid all of this—his mom, the visit, this conversation.

"You agreed to see her, though. To spend the weekend with her?"

Ryan nodded, not sure if Sandy could see him with his eyes on the road. They were in front of the Cohens' house now, but Sandy stopped the car before pulling up the driveway. He turned in his seat and faced Ryan.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Of course he wasn't sure. In fact, Ryan knew he didn't want to do this, any of it. He knew he would have been better off if his mom had never called again, if she'd truly abandoned him completely and left him alone.

"Does it matter?" he asked, and he forced himself to meet Sandy's eyes.

"Of course it matters."

Ryan almost laughed at that, but his voice caught in his throat. He looked back out the front window, where the windshield wipers were swiping at the rain, bringing the world outside in and out of focus.

"You don't have to go. You know that. You don't have to see her."

Ryan didn't answer, because what could he say. His mother, what he had to do for her, it didn't make sense, not to Ryan, and certainly not to anyone else. He just had to be there. It wasn't a choice.

"Maybe if you just met her for lunch again, or dinner-"

"I told her I'd meet her, and I will," Ryan said, his jaw tight and the words coming out forced. He blinked when a drop of water fell from his hair into his eye.

"I don't think you should," Sandy said. His tone was gentle but he was trying to be firm. Ryan wondered how far Sandy would take it, if he'd make demands, if he'd refuse to let Ryan see his mother.

"It doesn't matter what you think," Ryan said, staring at Sandy now, challenging him.

"Ryan-"

"She's my mom. I have to do this."

Sandy sighed.

"I wish you'd told us you were meeting her."

"Why? So you could tell me I'm making a big mistake? So you could forbid me from seeing her?"

"You know we wouldn't do that," Sandy said, narrowing his eyes.

"Right."

"You can drop the attitude, Ryan. I just need you to be honest with me and tell me what's going on."

Ryan didn't reply, and Sandy sighed again and ran a hand through his hair.

"I just don't want to see you hurt again."

"Then don't watch."

Ryan was out of the car, backpack and clothes in hand, before Sandy could reply. He slammed the door and escaped up the driveway, circling around back to go straight to the pool house. He kicked the pool house door closed so hard that the glass rattled in the frame.

He stopped just inside the room, closing his eyes and taking two deep breaths. When he still couldn't think straight, he threw the bag of clothes across the room and dropped his backpack to the floor before kicking it under the bed so hard that it slid out on the other side. And still he was fuming, his pulse racing and his breath coming in gasps as though he'd just run sprints for soccer. Ryan backed up until he hit the glass doors, and without thinking fumbled behind him to lock the door. He'd never locked them out before.

He stumbled forward and dropped onto his bed, bowing his head and clasping his hands behind his neck. His hair was still damp. He couldn't stop breathing hard. He couldn't focus. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Sandy kept insisting that he had a choice, that he didn't have to see his mom, and Ryan had agreed, over and over again he'd told the Cohens that he knew the decision was his. But he'd always known it wasn't the truth. She was his mom and she was never going to stop needing him, this was never going to end. Maybe she could leave, but he couldn't.

They assumed, all of the Cohens, that he was in control. That what was best for him was what mattered, and that he could make the right decisions to that end. Living with them all these months, he'd started to believe them. They'd told him that what he wanted was important. That his fate was his own. That there was room to hope that things might get better.

He'd been so stupid. He'd never had any control, not once in his life. Ryan kicked out blindly in front of him, his foot connecting with a chair at the end of his bed. He opened his eyes and kicked again, and again, until the chair tipped over backwards. He took a deep breath and held it, then let his shoulders slumped and fell back on the bed, his hands over his face.

There was a knock on the glass. Ryan glanced at the door, grateful that the drapes were closed. Someone knocked again, then tried opening the door. The glass rattled when the door wouldn't budge.

"Ryan?" It was Sandy. Ryan didn't answer. "Ryan, open the door."

He rolled over on his side, away from the door.

"Ryan."

He saw his backpack, reached over and hauled it onto the bed. Ryan pulled himself into a sitting position and opened his backpack, taking out a math book and pad of paper. He found a pencil on his bedside table.

"Ryan."

His hand was shaking as he wrote out the first math problem from the end of the chapter. Ryan ignored it, and he ignored the voice outside. He was halfway through the second problem before he realized Sandy was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Ryan caught a ride to school with Marissa the next morning, and with one hard glare he made it clear to Seth that he would not be discussing anything about his mom or Sandy that day. But he knew he couldn't avoid Sandy forever, so when he got home after soccer he left the pool house door unlocked. He tried not to feel disappointed when Kirsten called him in for dinner, and Sandy still hadn't come looking for him. Over take-out Mexican food, Kirsten explained that Sandy was working late again. Her voice was tight, and she kept darting nervous glances in Ryan's direction during the meal, looking away if their eyes happened to catch. He knew Sandy must have told her about his mom, but she didn't say anything. After clearing the table and taking out the trash, Ryan returned to the pool house, having spoken barely two sentences during dinner.

He was on his laptop, an empty page on his screen as he struggled to start an English assignment, when Sandy finally knocked on his door. Ryan glanced at the clock at his bedside. It was nearly 11 p.m.

"Come in," he called, closing the laptop and setting it at his side. He sat up straight on the bed, pulling his legs toward his chest.

Sandy was still in suit and tie. He gestured at a chair and when Ryan nodded he sat.

"You know, I could have unlocked that door last night."

Ryan glanced at Sandy. He was sitting back in the chair, his hands folded casually in his lap. He looked comfortable, but his eyes were serious.

"I know."

"You ready to talk now?"

"Not really."

"I didn't think so," Sandy said.

Sandy shifted in his chair, reaching into a pants pocket, and then tossed a cell phone onto the bed. Ryan looked up at him.

"It's yours," Sandy said.

Ryan picked up the phone, turning it over in his hands before glancing at Sandy again.

"It's so you can call us if you need anything. No matter what."

"You didn't have-"

"Yeah, I did," Sandy said. He watched Ryan carefully for a moment, then leaned forward, his mouth set in a determined line, his eyes bright. "You have to know that you're never alone. We're always going to be here for you."

Ryan swallowed and nodded slightly.

"Did you talk to your mom last night?"

He forced himself to nod yes. He'd called her late, after he'd finished his math homework.

"What time are you leaving tomorrow?"

Ryan blinked, tried to focus.

"Six."

"Okay," Sandy said. "Can you get the car back by Sunday afternoon, before 3?"

"I don't need the car." Ryan looked up to see Sandy frowning at him. "Mom's picking me up. At the Crab Shack."

Sandy opened his mouth, and Ryan imagined that he was going to say no, insist that Ryan borrow Kirsten's car again and drive himself, because it would be safer that way. He'd be in control. He could leave if he needed to. But Sandy seemed to think better of it and closed his mouth, then nodded shortly. He stood up.

"You'll call if you need anything." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah."

Sandy paused on his way to the door and turned around to face Ryan again. His face looked heavy now, and sad. His hair was falling over his eyebrows and Ryan noticed that his tie was loose around the neck. His lips were drawn into a worried frown. Ryan wondered how much of that was his fault.

"Be careful tomorrow. Don't-" Sandy stopped himself and ran a hand through his hair. "Just take care of yourself."

Ryan nodded slowly. He wasn't sure if Sandy heard his muttered thanks before he closed the door.

+++++

Seth was sitting in a chair at the end of Ryan's bed when he woke up the next morning. He had a mug of coffee at his side and the arts and leisure section of the LA Times spread wide in front of him. Seth turned a page and the paper crackled loudly. That must have been what had woken him. Ryan rolled over and looked at his bedside clock.

"It's 8:45, Seth," Ryan groaned, closing his eyes. The paper rustled again.

"I know. We don't have much time."

Ryan yawned and pushed himself up on his elbows. He treated Seth to a glare that couldn't have been too powerful considering how puffy his eyes felt. Seth certainly didn't appear to be intimidated.

"Come on. If you're going to be gone the whole weekend, we have to get started now."

Ryan yawned again. "Started on what?"

Seth held up a video game and jiggled it back and forth in his hand, apparently trying to tempt Ryan.

"Just came out yesterday," Seth announced. Ryan fell back in bed. "I'll let you shower and get dressed. You've got 20 minutes."

Ryan arrived barefoot in the den 25 minutes later, hair wet and his socks in hand. Seth was already sitting cross-legged on the couch, two game controllers in front of him, reading the back of the game box. Ryan pushed his hair out of his face and collapsed onto the couch, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He felt like he'd hardly slept the night before.

They played for nearly seven straight hours, stopping only once at noon when Kirsten brought them sandwiches for lunch and was so insistent they take a break that she unplugged the game console. Seth shrieked when the screen blinked out and Ryan smiled, then nearly laughed out loud when he saw the delight on Kirsten's face. She sat with them in the den through lunch, curled up on the floor in front of the coffee table. When Ryan stacked his plate and Seth's to carry them to the kitchen, Kirsten waved him back and took the plates from him.

"Stay," she said. "I've got it."

Ryan smiled and watched her walk back to the kitchen until Seth poked him in the leg and started the game again. Several hours later, when Ryan finally stood up and stretched, tossing his controller back on the couch, Seth didn't argue.

"It's almost 5," Ryan said. He glanced warily at Seth, who leaned forward and set his controller on the coffee table.

"You should probably jet."

Ryan smiled and nodded.

"Good luck," Seth said.

In the pool house, Ryan stuffed a change of clothes into his school backpack, along with his history book and notes in case he couldn't sleep. He considered wearing his old leather jacket, the one he'd bought for himself the year before, but instead pulled on a jacket Kirsten had given him for Christmas. He checked his wallet for cash, then slipped it into a jacket pocket, along with his keys and the cell phone Sandy had given him. He took one more look around the room, nagged by a feeling that he was missing something, or leaving something behind. He took a deep breath and walked outside.

Ryan walked around the back of the house to collect his bike from the garage. Sandy was working again, but he knew Kirsten would give him a ride to the Crab Shack if he asked. He didn't intend to ask.

"You're heading out?"

Kirsten was kneeling in the mud on the side of the house, heavy clippers in one hand and a pile of weeds at her side. She took off her gloves and rubbed her hands together but didn't get up.

"Yeah."

"You need a ride?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks."

Kirsten nodded and rested her hands on her knees. The rain had stopped the day before, but it was still cold, and her breath came out in soft puffs of steam.

"Sandy thinks you shouldn't go," Kirsten said.

"What do you think?"

"I think she's your mom and you still care very much about her." Kirsten smiled at him and pulled her gloves back on. "Try not to get home too late tomorrow. You have school on Monday."

Ryan returned her smile weakly, and continued on to the garage. He tried not to wonder how much the Cohens had been talking about him, worrying over him.

He arrived at the restaurant 15 minutes early, and an hour later he was ready to leave, his shoulders sagging with both relief and disappointment. He was back on his bike, pushing away from the restaurant, when he heard his mom call out to him. He put his feet down to stop the bike but didn't look back. It was fully dark out now, the lights on the boardwalk casting dull yellow circles on the pavement. He could still leave and follow the lights home. But he left his feet on the ground.

"Sorry I'm late," his mom said, breathless as she walked up to him. "Traffic."

He didn't respond, just got off the bike and locked it up behind the restaurant.

His mom hadn't been lying about the traffic. They spoke in stilted phrases that matched the stop-and-go movement of the car, his mom swearing then asking about Marissa, swearing some more and asking about school. Ryan mostly kept his eyes out the window and wished her radio worked.

It was well after 9 by the time they reached her apartment. They parked on the street, and Ryan studied the older building as he climbed out of the car and slung his backpack over his chest. It was three stories, a dirty yellow stucco in the light coming from two bright security lamps near the main door. All of the ground-floor windows had bars over them. Ryan's mom came around the other side of the car, a bag of fast food in her hand, and stared up at the building with him.

"It looks better inside," she said. Ryan glanced at her from the corners of his eyes. They'd lived in worse. "Come on."

The building smelled faintly damp and moldy inside. The walls were stained a muddy brown from old water leaks. The paint was cracking and peeling. His mom lived in an apartment at the end of the second floor hall, near a fire escape door that was held open with a brick. It was freezing in the hallway and Ryan shivered and folded his arms over his chest as his mom tried to open her door, grumbling and swearing as the key stuck in the deadbolt lock. She grinned when it finally clicked open and ushered Ryan inside.

It was freezing in her apartment too. They walked into a thinly-furnished living room, a dark green couch to Ryan's right and a television sitting on the carpet to his left. Cardboard boxes were lined up under the windows on the other side of the room. One of the windows had been broken, and was covered over now with a flap of cardboard held in place with duct tape.

But Ryan had to admit that the apartment was nicer than he had expected. The carpet was clean, the walls freshly painted. It smelled of Lysol and French fries, although the latter was probably from the bag his mom still carried.

"See? Nice, huh?" she said, treating Ryan to a hopeful smile. He offered a small smile of his own.

"Yeah."

"Put your stuff down," she said. "I'll give you the tour."

He followed her to a doorway directly to their right, into the kitchen. It was small but tidy. She set their food on a table.

"I mostly use the back door," she said, pointing to a door at the opposite end of the kitchen. "There's parking out back, but most of the spots are usually taken this time of night. Oh, and we can't smoke in the apartment, but there's a porch out there."

"I don't smoke," he said.

"You quit?" Ryan nodded, not bothering to explain that he'd never really been addicted. "Huh. Good for you."

A door next to the refrigerator opened into a bathroom, again cleaner than Ryan had expected. On the opposite end of the bathroom was a second door, which led to the bedroom. Like the living room it was nearly empty, aside from a mattress on the floor and a clutter of clothes and cardboard boxes.

"I just moved in a couple weeks ago," his mom explained. "Haven't had much time to unpack."

They retreated back to the living room, where his mom spread their food on the carpet and picked up the television remote. Ryan wondered if they were eating on the floor in front of the television because his mom was scared to talk to him.

"Hey, 'Cops'," she said, setting down the remote. "You used to love this show."

"That was Trey, Mom."

She laughed and pointed a French fry at him.

"No, you loved it too. Remember that time with the dog, when it pulled down that guy's pants? I don't think I've ever seen you laugh so hard."

Ryan tried not to smile. That kind of stuff wasn't really his brand of humor. It made his mom and his brother laugh, not him. But Ryan remembered that at the time, he'd laughed so hard that he'd doubled over and had tears in his eyes. 

"He was running with his pants around his ankles," Ryan said, finally giving in and joining her laughter. "Like he really thought he was gonna get away."

"He almost did," his mom said, giggling now. "Remember that cop? The fat one? He kept having to stop and catch his breath."

Ryan laughed and nodded his head. But as he took a bite of his hamburger he pulled himself in, back to this moment and this place. He wasn't 13 years old, able to laugh at a ridiculous TV show. He couldn't be that kid anymore. In some ways, he wondered if he'd ever been that kid.

They ate in silence for a while, Ryan barely paying attention to the television. When he'd finished his dinner he balled the wrappers up and stuffed them in the bag, then leaned back against the couch. He pulled his knees up and crossed his arms over his chest. His mom, still working on her French fries, turned back to peek at him through her long hair, but quickly looked back at the television before they could make eye contact. When the show was over, she flipped through the channels, running through all the stations before settling on a sit-com bubbling with a stream of fake laughter.

"How is it really going, living with this family? They treating you good? Taking care of you?"

Ryan immediately felt his shoulders tense and pulled his legs closer to his body. She had no right to ask these questions. But she had anyway, and he was here, sitting on her floor, watching her TV.

"Yeah, they're great," he said.

"It must be strange, living around all that money."

He shrugged. He didn't tell her about Christmas, and all of the gifts. Or the school that he went to, with its tuition and the kids who drove cars that probably cost more than she made in a year. He didn't mention all of the shoes that Kirsten kept buying for him, and the new clothes that regularly appeared on his bed, the price tags already removed. He had more clothes now than he'd had in his entire life, and still Kirsten didn't stop buying for him. He'd once told Kirsten that she didn't need to buy so much for him, that he had plenty to wear, but she'd shrugged and told him it was habit. He'd just have to put up with her, she'd said with a kind smile, as though he was doing her a favor.

"Don't ever let them think they're better than you," his mom said suddenly, and Ryan jerked his head up. "Just because they have money, it doesn't mean they're worth any more than you, Ry."

Ryan shook his head, stunned by her ignorance even though he knew he shouldn't be. She was staring thoughtfully at him, her mouth drawn.

"The Cohens aren't like that," he said.

She watched him for another few seconds, then nodded and gathered up the rest of their dinner trash. "Good," she said, and stuffed the trash into a plastic bag near the television. Ryan knew she didn't believe him.

"So," she said, standing and turning to face him, her hands on her hips, "you want your stuff?"

Ryan nodded, mildly surprised that she hadn't been lying when she'd told him she had a box of things from his old bedroom. His mom moved over to the window and dragged a box toward the center of the room. It was large, and might have once held the television they were watching. She pulled off the packing tape and opened the box before motioning him over. Ryan crawled over on his knees, and joined her in rifling through the contents.

He'd thought that most of the items would belong to Trey, but for the most part he was wrong. He found books and soccer trophies that had belonged to him. All of his clothes were in there. At the bottom of the box were notebooks from junior high, when he'd been assigned to keep a journal for a year. His mom must have found those under the bed. He wondered if she'd read them.

It didn't take long to dig through everything in the box, and they spoke very little as they emptied it onto the floor. By the time they'd put it all back, Ryan folding his clothes neatly as they went despite the fact that he had no intention of taking them with him, his mom was yawning and blinking heavily.

"You should go to bed," he said, folding closed the top flaps of the box.

"No, I'm fine. Tell me more about what it's like living in that mansion."

"It's not a mansion, Mom, and I live in the pool house."

"Why is that?" she asked. "They can't make room for you in the mansion?"

"No, I like it there. It's private." He didn't mention that it was easier, sometimes, living apart from the main house. That this family, his new family, could be overwhelming at times. That he liked having an escape.

"You don't feel like you're the hired help?"

Ryan actually laughed at that. He wanted to tell his mom that Kirsten tried to stop him from helping around the house, even insisted that he relax and just enjoy the comforts of their home. He couldn't tell his mom that, after he'd first moved in with the Cohens, he'd often wished there was some way he could earn his keep.

"No, it's good," he said. "Go ahead, Mom. Go to bed."

She eyed him uncertainly.

"We can talk in the morning," he said. "I'll make breakfast."

"I bought eggs and bacon, just for you," she said with a small smile. "You don't mind the couch?"

Ryan looked back over his shoulder at the couch, which sagged deeply in the middle but would probably be comfortable enough.

"It's fine."

"There are blankets in one of those boxes, if you get cold," his mom said. She stood, and Ryan did the same. She studied him for a long moment, then reached forward and pushed his hair away from his forehead. Ryan didn't back away, didn't even blink. She smiled at him. "Thank you."

"Yeah," he said. "I'll see you in the morning."

His mom leaned forward and hugged him and Ryan let her, reaching around to hug her back because it was what she needed from him. She smelled of grease and cigarettes, but also faintly sweet. He let her go and backed up, ducking his head.

"Goodnight."

"'Night, Mom."

+++++

Ryan woke with a start. His heart raced as he peered around the room, trying to remember where he was. He blinked rapidly in the bright light. When he figured it out, the bare apartment coming back into focus, he sighed and sank back into the couch.

He wasn't sure what had woken him up and tried to remember if he'd been dreaming. Ryan had stayed up for a long time after his mom had gone to bed, watching television and reading the next chapter for history. He'd tried several times to fall asleep, giving up after tossing for a long time and finally turning the lights back on to read. He knew it must have been long after midnight before he'd actually drifted off; his history book was still tucked under one arm. He yawned and blinked tiredly. Ryan set the book on the floor and sat halfway up to turn off the halogen lamp behind him. The sky outside was already starting to turn gray. It was close to dawn.

Ryan had nearly fallen back to sleep when he heard voices coming from the bedroom. They were soft at first, just mumbles. But they quickly grew louder, and he could clearly hear a man and a woman. His mom had company. Ryan didn't turn the light back on, but he sat up on the couch, fully awake now. He shivered as the blanket fell away from his shoulders.

He still couldn't hear what the voices were saying, but the anger was obvious. The words were sharp and frantic. His mom was fighting with someone. Ryan felt his heart hammering in his chest. He swung his feet off the couch then sat very still, listening.

He heard a crash and a muffled yell. Then a louder yell, his mom. There was crying, and now the yelling was louder still, the words clear. And worst of all, he recognized the voice. Ryan bolted up from the couch and into the kitchen, then the bathroom. He didn't knock on the bedroom door. He opened it and in the dim, pre-dawn light he saw his mother sagging on the floor on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall, her hair hanging in her face. AJ was standing over her.

"What the fuck?" he yelled when Ryan turned on the bedroom light.

"Ryan," his mom said, her voice cracking.

Ryan could barely breathe as he stared dumbly around the room. There was a bottle of whiskey near the bed, mostly empty. His mom drank whiskey; AJ preferred vodka. Cash was strewn all over the room, mostly $20s. The bed had been torn apart, the sheets ripped from the mattress. The piles of clothes had been tossed all about, and Ryan noticed now that there were men's clothes in there, wide pants and heavy denim shirts that didn't belong to his mom. She wasn't even living alone. Ryan looked back at her, crying quietly, blood leaking from her nose.

"What the hell is he doing here?" AJ asked.

"You weren't supposed to be home," she said.

"You weren't supposed to steal $300 from me," AJ growled, and he kicked her in the thigh. She grunted and curled up, pulling her legs toward her and crying. Ryan rushed into the room and shoved AJ away from his mom, hard enough that he hit the wall.

"Leave her alone."

"You want this, kid?"

AJ pushed away from the wall and swung at Ryan, catching him on the side of the head. Ryan stumbled but didn't fall. Dazed, he sensed AJ moving toward him and launched his entire body to the side, catching AJ in the stomach with his shoulder. AJ was winded, and Ryan capitalized on his advantage and swung hard, punching the man again in the stomach, then the face.

But AJ was so much bigger than him, so much stronger, and Ryan's advantage didn't last. AJ swung up with his fist and caught Ryan in the chin, snapping his head back and sending him tumbling to the floor. He picked Ryan up by one arm and hit him again in the face, then dropped him. Ryan rolled over and pressed his forehead into the carpet. He tried to push himself up to his knees and felt a kick to his ribs that drove all the air out of his lungs. He lay gasping and coughing, nothing making any sense.

"Stop! AJ, stop!"

His mom was yelling, her voice choked with tears. Ryan wanted to hit her, hit AJ, slam his head into the floor, anything to drive this nightmare away, but he couldn't even breathe so instead he lay there panting. When his breathing had slowed, he climbed to his knees. AJ was sitting on the end of the mattress, a can of beer in one hand. He looked tired and Ryan wanted to tackle him and beat him until his fists were raw. He set his jaw and stared hard at AJ, his fingers digging into the soft carpet.

"Get out of here," AJ said, tipping his head to the door.

Ryan stood slowly, his legs weak and shaking. He took an unsteady step toward AJ.

"Ryan."

He turned to his mom. She was still leaning against the wall. Her nose had stopped bleeding but she was crying and her eyes were red and swollen. She wasn't looking at him. Refused to look at him.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Ryan stood looking at her for a long moment. She would never choose him. Every time he would choose her, and every time she would turn away. They'd been through this so many times, and still the realization was so shocking, so horrible that part of him wanted to drop back to the floor and bury his head in his hands. But instead he stood there, blinking and swaying slightly on his feet, until he turned around and walked away.

He grabbed his jacket and his shoes and his backpack. He left the front door open behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Ryan burst out the front door of the apartment building, out of breath, his eyes stinging. He wiped a hand over his eyes and mouth and saw blood on his fingers. He spat to the side, into the bushes.

He took a deep breath and willed away the tears he felt crowding the corners of his eyes and choking his throat. He wanted to run away from this place, as far and as fast as possible, but he wasn't wearing his shoes and he didn't know where to go. Ryan dropped his backpack and sat on the stairs that led up to the building. He pulled his boots on, fighting the tears again when he couldn't get the laces to work in his shaking fingers. He finally gave up on tying his shoes with a frustrated sob and buried his head in his hands, pulling his knees up to his chin. He concentrated on breathing, and how cold it was this early in the morning without his jacket on. He ran his hands through his hair and looked around, the neighborhood quiet and fuzzy in the gray light. The sun hadn't come up yet.

The horror at seeing AJ again, at reliving a scene he'd convinced himself he would never have to experience again, was fading. He felt stupid for believing he'd actually left this all behind him. It was never going anywhere, because he couldn't let it go. He was the one who had chosen to come back here, who had agreed to see his mom and who had ignored all of the obvious signs that nothing had changed, that everything was the same. He was living in Newport now, with a new family that tried to take care of him, but it didn't matter. He couldn't shelve his past. And now he had nowhere to go and nothing to do but complete the circle. Ryan reached for the jacket he'd dropped beside his backpack and pulled out the cell phone Sandy had given him. Six months ago he'd made a phone call. Nothing had changed. He was still alone, beaten and abandoned, calling a Cohen for help.

"Hello?"

Seth's voice was rough and tired.

"Hey, man. It's me."

"Ryan? What time is it?"

"Early. Sorry I woke you."

"No, no, it's fine," Seth said, and Ryan could imagine him sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I need-" Ryan paused when his voice cracked, and he closed his eyes, took a deep breath. "Can you come get me?"

"What? Yeah, of course." Seth was fully awake now. "Are you okay?"

"No, not really." Ryan swiped at his eyes again, bowed his head.

"Where are you?"

"My mom's," Ryan said, but Seth knew that.

"What's the address?"

Ryan glanced behind him at the apartment building, but he couldn't see a number anywhere on it. He knew the streets, though.

"D Street and Fifth. I'll be out front."

"In Chino?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll be there in an hour."

"Thanks," Ryan said, and turned off the phone.

He knew he shouldn't have called Seth and made him come out so early in the morning. He wondered if Seth would tell his parents where he was going or if he'd just grab the keys to the Range Rover and leave. He wasn't sure he cared either way.

Finally fed up with the cold, Ryan put on his jacket and slid the cell phone into a pocket. He folded his arms over his knees and rested his forehead on his hands. His face felt tight and raw, and he thought he might be bleeding still. His left eye was already swelling. His ribs ached when he breathed. He felt like he'd been sitting on these steps for hours. No one came out of the apartment building. No one came after him.

+++++

The sunrises in Newport came in shades of pink and violet, and they bounced golden light off the ocean that Ryan could see from the Cohens' backyard when he was awake at the right hour. In Chino, the sun rising behind his mom's apartment building painted the sky orange as light filtered through the dirty haze. Ryan took a deep breath, imagining that he could feel the smog filling his lungs.

He stood, wobbling slightly on his feet, when he saw the Range Rover come around the corner at the far end of the street. Seth was driving slowly, with the headlights still on. Ryan leaned over carefully to pick up his backpack then walked down to the curb so Seth would know where to pull over.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. Mapquest screwed up the directions," Seth said as he got out of the car, flapping the printed directions in one hand. He stopped suddenly when he finally looked up at Ryan. "Dude, what happened? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

"You so do not look fine," Seth said, stepping directly in front of Ryan and dipping his head to look him in the face. "Maybe we should take you to a hospital or something. That's a lot of blood."

"I'm fine," Ryan insisted. "Let's just get out of here."

Seth looked uncertain, his mouth hanging open, but after a moment he nodded seriously and turned back to the car.

"Yeah, okay. Let's get you home."

Ryan opened the passenger door and swung his backpack on the floor, then stopped before climbing in. The backpack seemed too light, and he was nagged by the feeling that he'd left something behind. He turned and glanced back at the apartment building, then into the car again. He leaned forward and unzipped the backpack, rifling through the clothes he'd never bothered changing into.

"Damn it," he swore softly, when he realized what was missing.

"What is it?" Seth was already sitting in the driver's seat, keys at the ignition.

"I left my history book upstairs."

Seth leaned forward to look up at the building through the windshield, then shrugged.

"So leave it. You'll get a new one."

Ryan was tempted to do just that. He didn't want to walk back into that apartment. He didn't want to face his mom, or AJ. But it seemed so wasteful to just abandon a book like that, something the Cohens had bought him for school. And besides, his notebook was still there too, and that was something he couldn't replace.

"It'll just take a second," Ryan said. He closed the passenger door and started walking back to the building. He heard another door slam and looked over his shoulder to see Seth following. He frowned and shook his head.

"I'm coming with you," Seth said, his face set.

"No, I can handle it," Ryan said. "Just stay here. I'll be right back."

"You shouldn't go alone."

"Seth."

Seth stopped, seemed ready to argue, then gave an exaggerated shrug and nodded. He stayed at the bottom of the stairs.

Ryan hoped to avoid his mom and AJ entirely, just duck into the living room, grab his stuff, and leave. He didn't care if they were yelling, or if his mom was crying. He would not stay. The door was ajar when Ryan arrived at the end of the hall on the second floor. He nudged the door the rest of the way open. His mom was sitting on the couch, her hair hanging in her face. Ryan took a deep breath and closed the door behind him. She looked up, her face flushed and her eyes wet.

"Ryan-"

"I forgot my book," he said before his mom could finish. His notebook and the history text were on the floor and he picked them up, wincing as his ribs ached when he leaned over. He turned back to the door.

"Wait," she said as he reached for the doorknob. "I can explain."

"I don't want to hear it," he said, his back to her.

"I know you don't," she said. "I'm sorry. AJ wasn't supposed to be here."

Like that made any difference. Like that explained anything. Ryan spun around, all of his control gone, and stepped forward until he was in the middle of the room.

"Why?" he said. "Why'd you even call? Why couldn't you just leave me alone?"

"You're my kid. I couldn't just let you go."

"Why not? You've done it before."

"I know," she said, choking, sobbing. "And I'm sorry."

"I'm happy now. Do you even get that?"

She nodded, wiping at her eyes and nose. Ryan sighed and felt the guilt washing over him, out of his control. He looked around the apartment, at the second-hand furniture and the boxes and the bag of trash next to the television.

"Why'd you go back to him?" he asked. "Why do you let him do this?"

"He takes care of me," she said weakly.

"Right."

"He needs me."

"I needed you," Ryan said.

"I know you do."

"But you were never there."

She looked up at him and stood up from the couch. She was wearing a pale blue nightgown, blood drying near the collar. She walked over to him and he backed away.

"I'm no good at this mom thing," she said. "But I want to try, for you. I can do it if you'll help me."

Ryan shook his head, refusing to look at her.

"I'm done."

"I'm your mother, Ryan. Please."

She reached for him and closed her hand around his arm, trying to pull him toward her.

"Let him go."

Ryan looked up and saw Seth, standing in the open front door.

"Get out of here, Seth."

Seth didn't leave. Ryan wrenched his arm away from his mom and moved toward the door.

"Don't go. Don't leave," she said.

"I can't do this anymore."

Seth stepped to the side as Ryan reached the door, and they left together. Ryan didn't look back, didn't stop until he was at the Range Rover, leaning against the passenger door and panting because he'd run out of the building without even realizing it. When Seth caught up with him his face was pale and his eyes were wide with shock. Seth was breathing hard too.

"Are you okay, man?" he asked, his voice soft with concern.

Ryan nodded, closing his eyes, trying not to think. He wanted to get in the car and tell Seth to turn up the radio loud. He wanted to roll down the windows and let the music and the cold air drive away everything that had happened.

"How can she do that?" Seth asked. "How can she let this happen, let someone do this to you, and still ask you to stay?"

"You don't understand," Ryan said. "She's messed up. She doesn't know what she's doing."

"You're right, I don't get it. How can you make excuses for her?"

"She's my mom," Ryan said.

"She's a bitch."

He said it softly, but Ryan heard anyway. He dropped his book and without thinking he grabbed Seth by the shoulders and shoved him against the car, hard enough that Seth's head snapped back. Ryan clutched a handful of Seth's shirt in one fist and swung once, hitting Seth in the chin, then swung again and hit him in the eye. Seth managed to raise his arms to his face, but he didn't fight back.

"Ryan," he said, his voice breaking.

Ryan let go of the shirt and stepped back, and Seth crumpled, falling to his knees on the sidewalk. He leaned forward, coughing and spitting blood on the pavement. When he looked up, wiping a hand over his bloody mouth, his eyes were wide with fear. Ryan took a step toward him and Seth jerked away and raised his hands.

Ryan felt sick to his stomach at the sight of Seth huddled and bleeding on the ground. But still the anger wouldn't go away, the desperate need to hurt something and find some way, any way, to get rid of these thoughts and feelings that were throbbing in his head and chest, his arms and legs.

Ryan spun around, looked the other way. Everything around him seemed sharp and too bright, horribly focused. He swayed and stumbled into the side of the car, leaning heavily against the door until he felt himself sliding to the ground. His hand ached where he'd hit Seth and he couldn't believe he'd actually done it, he'd actually hit him. Ryan curled around his legs, his back against the car.

He couldn't look at Seth, couldn't even think about Seth, or his mom, or AJ, or what came next.

+++++

In the distance Ryan heard sirens wailing from someone else's life gone awry. As the neighborhood woke up, he heard cars passing on the street and doors opening. Newspapers landed with heavy thunks on the driveways on either side of his mom's apartment building. Seth was breathing heavy nearby. Ryan, sitting hunched over against the side of the car, kept his fists pressed into his eyes and his head bowed. When he heard shuffling coming from his left, he shifted his hands to his forehead and risked a look. Seth crawled over and sat in a position similar to Ryan, back to the car, head in his hands. There was blood on his chin, smeared from where Seth must have tried to wipe it away.

Ryan worked his mouth opened and closed, trying to force himself to speak, but nothing came out.

"I'm sorry," Seth said

Ryan turned his head and gaped at Seth. When he still didn't speak, Seth kept talking.

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have called your mom…" Seth trailed off, took a deep breath. "I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry."

"I hit you," Ryan whispered.

"Yeah, I know."

"I don't…" Ryan tried again, searching for the right words to say, but nothing came to him. He didn't know what to say. There was nothing he could say.

"Look, let's just get out of here," Seth said.

He stood and offered a hand to help Ryan up. Ryan just stared at the hand before pushing himself to his feet, his back sliding against the car. Seth frowned and looked away, disappointed. Ryan didn't know what to do. He was stuck. Frozen. He waited until Seth was in the car and had started the engine before picking his history book up off the ground and climbing into the passenger seat.

Seth didn't turn up the radio, and Ryan didn't ask him to. They didn't speak at all. Seth kept darting nervous glances at Ryan. Ryan kept his gaze out the window.

It was surprisingly easy to keep his head clear and chase away the images from the morning. Ryan just stared outside as the sun came up and the world slowly came back to life. Traffic was light on the freeway so early on a Sunday morning but Seth kept to the slow lane. The shrubs and street signs and faraway buildings passed in a jumble that Ryan didn't even try to untangle.

Both of them jumped when Seth's cell phone rang. Seth was shaking so hard when he pulled it out of his jacket pocket that he nearly dropped the phone on the floor.

"Hey," he said. "No, yeah, we're fine. … About 10 minutes. … I know, I'm sorry. … Okay. … I know. Love you too, Mom."

Seth turned off his phone and put it back in his pocket. He gripped the steering wheel and looked at Ryan, then focused back on the road as he took the next exit off the freeway.

"You, um, might want to get cleaned up a little. Before we get home," Seth said. "Mom'll freak out if she sees you like this."

Seth waved a hand vaguely around his own face, and Ryan opened the mirror in the windshield visor. Blood was beginning to congeal in a long patch down the left side of his face from a cut just above his eyebrow. He looked like the victim of a bad car accident. Ryan poked at his face near the wound, which was still bleeding sluggishly. He wondered when in his fight with AJ he'd been cut, and why he hadn't noticed all of the blood drying on his face.

"There's bottled water in the back seat," Seth said.

Ryan reached into the seat behind him and found the water, then opened his backpack and took out a pair of clean boxers he'd never bothered to change into. He poured some water on the cloth and dabbed at his face until he'd wiped off all of the blood. He looked down at his chest and saw more blood drying on the T-shirt he was wearing. There was nothing he could do about that, so he offered the bottled water to Seth.

"No, I'm good," Seth said, waving away the bottle.

"Your chin," Ryan said.

Seth tipped his head to the side to look at himself in the rearview mirror.

"Oh," he said. Ryan poured water onto a clean T-shirt from his backpack and handed the shirt to Seth. "Thanks."

When Seth was done, Ryan shoved the dirty clothes into his backpack, along with his history text and notebook. Then he sat back heavily in the seat and let out a long sigh. He'd so far managed to avoid thinking about everything that had happened, but in just a few minutes he'd be back at the Cohens' house, facing Sandy and Kirsten. He'd attacked their son. He'd hurt Seth. This was not a situation he could hide from. He couldn't lock the door to the pool house or stay late at school or plan endless dates with Marissa. It wasn't just the Cohens who weren't going to forgive him. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

"So I've been thinking," Seth said, his head jerking side to side as he looked quickly between the road and Ryan. "We don't have to tell them what happened."

Ryan frowned at him, not following Seth's line of thought.

"My parents. They don't have to know about…" and Seth waved his hand over his face again, unwilling to complete the sentence.

"They'll see," Ryan said.

"Yeah, of course, I know," Seth said. "But, I mean, whoever beat you up, he could've done the same thing to me, right? So we just change the story a little."

Ryan stared at him for a moment, not wanting to believe that Seth would suggest making excuses for him. Ryan couldn't stop himself from flashing on all of the times he'd told lies to protect the people who had hurt him. And here was Seth, doing the same thing. The realization made his stomach twist and he felt sick. Ryan didn't answer, just turned away from Seth and shook his head.

"Ryan?" Seth said, his voice small, scared. "Who did that to you? Was it one of her boyfriends?"

Ryan risked a quick glance at Seth, who was watching the road. They had passed the guard booth now and were winding their way through the Cohens' neighborhood. Ryan didn't say anything, just looked back out the window. It didn't matter now.

He felt Seth's eyes on the side of his face, waiting for an answer. But Ryan wouldn't speak, and Seth didn't ask again.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Seth pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine, but he didn't get out of the car right away. When he turned to face Ryan, he still looked pale, and his eyes were heavy. His left eye was already swelling.

"Just let me do the talking, okay? Everything will be fine."

Ryan closed his eyes and held his breath. He thought he might be shaking again. He picked up his backpack and opened the door, then followed Seth into the house. Kirsten was on them before they had even closed the door.

"Oh my God, what happened? Are you guys okay?"

"We're fine, Mom," Seth said, even as he let his mom hug him tightly.

Ryan stayed near the door, backpack clutched to his chest. Sandy looked him carefully up and down, his eyes narrowing as he tried to figure out what had happened. Sandy walked up to Seth and rubbed his shoulder, leaning down to get a better look at his son's face, then approached Ryan.

"What happened?" Sandy asked.

Seth pulled away from Kirsten and stood between his parents, ready to launch into his explanation. Ryan didn't even let him get started.

"I hit him."

"What?" Sandy asked.

"Ryan-" Seth started, his eyes flashing in panic.

"I hit Seth."

"You what?" Kirsten said. Her face fell, the worry replaced by something he couldn't recognize, shock or fear. She looked to Sandy, to Seth, back to Ryan. Sandy just stood there staring at him.

"You hit Seth," he said, slowly, and Ryan nodded. His throat felt tight and he didn't think he could speak. "What exactly happened?"

Seth jumped forward and spun around to face his parents, his hands spread wide in front of him, as though to keep them from coming any closer, keep them away from Ryan.

"It's not a big deal, guys," Seth said, the words spilling out so fast that they tumbled together. "I went to Chino to get Ryan, and he was, someone had hit him, and he was waiting for me, at his mom's place. And she wanted him to stay and talk but he wouldn't. And we got outside and I called her a bitch. I shouldn't have said it."

Ryan backed up as Seth talked, pressing his backpack into his chest. He felt dizzy, like he couldn't breathe, and the room seemed to be spinning. He stopped when he'd backed into a corner. They all stared at him, and Seth stopped talking.

Sandy stepped around Seth and began to approach, and Ryan bolted. He pushed off the wall and tried to lunge past Sandy and Seth, but Sandy grabbed him by his arm before he could escape. Ryan flinched, suddenly afraid of being hit, and tried to wrench free. Sandy refused to let go, and he stepped in front of Ryan, locking both hands on Ryan's shoulders and holding tight even as Ryan continued to pull away.

"Ryan. Stop it," Sandy said, his voice severe but not dangerous.

Ryan stopped fighting. His head was throbbing, his chest felt too tight. When he felt Sandy's hands relax on his shoulders, he pulled back and Sandy let him go. But a moment later Sandy had a hand at Ryan's elbow, and he was guiding him into the living room, toward a couch. Ryan let himself be pulled along, backpack still cradled to his chest, and finally sat on a couch facing the pool outside. He leaned forward, muscles tense, ready to run. From the corner of his eye he saw Sandy nod to Kirsten, and she and Seth left for the kitchen, both of them casting nervous glances at Ryan. He turned his head away from them.

Sandy didn't sit. His head still lowered, Ryan let his gaze drift up toward Sandy, pacing in front of the windows. He was still wearing his pajamas and a robe that was tied loosely at the waist. Sandy frowned and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

Ryan knew he'd betrayed all of them—Sandy, Kirsten and Seth. He'd lied to them, made them believe he could handle this on his own, and instead he'd let himself lose control. He'd attacked Seth and hurt him. He'd ruined his chances there. They could never let him stay now. He'd been given the best opportunity of his life and he'd thrown it away because he couldn't let go and he couldn't put his past behind him.

"Tell me what happened," Sandy said finally, turning to face Ryan, his arms crossed over his chest.

"It doesn't matter."

"No," Sandy said sharply, before Ryan had even stopped speaking. "Enough of that. It does matter."

"I hit-"

"I know you hit Seth. We'll deal with that. But first you're going to tell me what happened."

Ryan stared hard at his feet, his face burning where he could feel Sandy watching him. He dug his fingers into his backpack. He swallowed hard, licked his lips.

"My mom," he started. The words stuck in his throat, but he pushed forward. "She went back to him."

"Her boyfriend."

Ryan nodded.

"After everything…" He couldn't make himself do it. He couldn't say it. Ryan swallowed again, kept his eyes to the floor. "It's never going to change."

Sandy sighed again, and when Ryan risked a glance at him, Sandy was looking out the windows, his eyes bright in the morning sunlight. He looked tired, drained.

"Maybe not," Sandy said, still staring out the window.

Ryan closed his eyes and tried not to think about it. He could feel the tears building but he forced them back with deep breaths that made his chest ache. Ryan cringed but didn't pull away when he felt a hand on his knee. He opened his eyes to find Sandy perched on the coffee table in front of him.

"Why'd you hit Seth?"

"I don't know," Ryan said. It was the truth.

"You beat up my kid. I'm gonna need a better answer than that."

Ryan felt his mouth go dry and turned away, blinking rapidly. He'd beat up Seth, but he still didn't have any answers.

"Okay, you won't talk, I'll talk for you. Your mom lied to you. She let her boyfriend kick your ass. She pissed you off." Ryan narrowed his eyes as Sandy spoke, saying out loud everything he didn't want to hear or think about. "You were hurt and you were angry and you couldn't do a thing about it."

"What am I supposed to do?" Ryan said, his voice quiet but hard. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together.

"You talk about it. Let us help."

Ryan tried to laugh but it came out choked and desperate. He shook his head.

"Who am I supposed to talk to? Seth? Kirsten? You?"

"Yeah, take your pick." Ryan snorted and Sandy sat back on the table and studied him for a moment. "You think we won't understand."

"Seth doesn't," Ryan said sharply. "How could he? I don't even understand. She's my mom and I'm the one who went back to her."

"That's right. And you're mad at yourself too. You're mad at everyone because it's a crappy situation and it isn't fair."

"I wasn't mad at Seth," Ryan insisted.

"Yeah, you were."

"But Seth didn't do anything."

"No, and you shouldn't have hit him," Sandy said. He squeezed Ryan's knee, and Ryan raised his eyes to look him in the face. "You didn't give yourself a lot of other options. You have to find a better way. You have to come to us. Talk to us. Trust us."

Ryan let his gaze fall back to the floor.

"It's not that easy," he said.

"I know. But you have to try," Sandy said, his voice serious, demanding. "Because what happened today, it can't happen again."

Ryan swallowed and bowed his head. His hands were clenched so hard that he could feel his pulse throbbing in his fists. His head hurt.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I let you down."

Sandy sighed and took his hand away from Ryan's knee.

"Yeah, you did," he said.

"What if you can't trust me again?"

"It's gonna take some time, and effort," Sandy said. "But you'll get that trust back."

Ryan nodded slowly and felt the tears coming back. He closed his eyes. He didn't dare look Sandy in the face.

"Why don't you get some rest. Take a shower, clean up. We can talk about all this later."

More talking. Ryan was done with talking. But he would take what escape he could for now, so he stood and followed Sandy into the kitchen. Seth and Kirsten were sitting at the kitchen table, Seth with an icepack pressed to his face. Seth started to stand but Sandy waved for him to stay where he was.

"It's early," he said. "We're all tired."

He left it at that, and Seth nodded and tried to smile at Ryan, but he couldn't quite manage it. Kirsten folded her arms over her chest, her eyes darting to Sandy but not to Ryan. She looked scared, and she had a deep frown on her face that he hadn't seen in months.

Ryan left the kitchen without a word.

+++++

After showering and changing clothes, Ryan felt drained and numb, like the events of the past 24 hours, or even the past week, had been washed away and wouldn't bother him anymore. He collapsed onto his bed and fell sleep before the memories could start hurting him again.

He woke up hours later, sore and hungry, but still pleasantly numb. His face felt swollen and puffy. In the bathroom, he risked a glance in the mirror and scowled at the dark, heavy bruise that stretched from the top of his left cheek to just below his eyebrow. At least the cut had stopped bleeding, but it looked red and angry and he thought it might even leave a scar. While he'd slept, his hair had dried into a tangle that stuck nearly straight up in the back, so he quickly dunked his head under the faucet in the sink and smoothed it down. He was as presentable as he was going to get.

Ryan slipped a blue hooded sweatshirt over his tank top and pulled on a pair of jeans, then walked to the main house in his socks. He paused briefly before the back door, entirely uncertain about what to expect inside. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Ryan smelled bacon. Sandy was at the stove, his back to the door, and Kirsten stood at the counter cutting oranges into thick wedges. Kirsten met his eyes briefly before going back to her oranges. Sandy turned when he heard the back door close.

"Ouch. That eye looks sore."

Ryan shrugged.

"It's okay."

Kirsten glanced at him again. She'd stopped slicing but she was gripping the knife so hard that it shook slightly in her hand. She set it down and wiped her hands off on a towel.

"Why don't you sit down, let me take a look at your eye."

"Nah, it's fine."

"It doesn't look fine," Kirsten said. She pointed at the couch in the den. "Sit."

He stood for a moment in the center of the kitchen as Kirsten turned and rummaged through a drawer, then followed her orders. He sat on the edge of the couch, hands clasped tightly between his knees. Kirsten joined him a minute later and sat on the coffee table in front of him, setting a glass of water beside her and a first aid kit in her lap. Her fingers were shaking as she opened the kit and found the items she needed. She looked up into his face.

"Does your head hurt?"

Ryan shook his head no. She frowned at him, clearly not believing him, and Ryan wondered if he'd just messed up again, giving her one more reason not to trust him. Kirsten took out a bottle of aspirin and fumbled with the childproof cap. She swore softly before finally getting it open and shaking two pills into her palm. Without a word, she held her hand out to him and he took the pills from her, trying not to think about the way her fingers trembled. She handed him the glass of water, and he swallowed the pills.

He winced but fought the urge to recoil from her when she reached up to brush the hair away from his forehead. Her fingers were cold but gentle, either because she was trying to be careful or she didn't want to touch him. He glanced up at her through his bangs, keeping his head down.

"I think you might need stitches," she said. She pushed softly on his chin, moving his head to the side so she could better see the cut over his eye.

"It stopped bleeding," Ryan said. He let his gaze drift back toward her face but kept his head still. She met his eye and her frown deepened before she looked away.

"I guess it'll be fine," she said, and turned back to the first aid kit. She squeezed ointment onto a cotton swab. "This might hurt a little."

It did, but Ryan didn't react as she cleaned the cut. He blinked quickly when she was done, clearing the stinging tears out of his eyes.

"How's Seth?" he asked as Kirsten reached for a bandage. Her hands paused over the first aid kit and he glanced up at her face again. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was tight. Ryan looked away, not wanting to deal with the anger he saw there.

"He's fine," Kirsten said quietly. She quickly taped the bandage over his cut then began putting all of her supplies back into the first aid kit. Ryan stared at his feet, the guilt and shame nearly overwhelming. He rubbed his palms on his knees, wanting desperately to get up and leave.

"Hey, guys."

Ryan and Kirsten both jumped at Seth's voice. The first aid kit fell off Kirsten's lap and landed upside down on the floor, bandages and tape and packets of painkillers spilling all around their feet. Ryan immediately slid off the couch and onto his knees on the floor and began picking up the supplies. Kristen joined him, but shooed away Seth when he tried to help.

"Why don't you relieve your dad in the kitchen," Kirsten said. "He and I need to talk to Ryan."

Ryan froze for a second at Kirsten's words. There was still more to come. They could still tell him he had to leave, that he wasn't working with their family. Hands shaking now, he collected the last of the first aid items from under the couch and dropped them back in the kit.

"Thanks," Kirsten said. She reached under the coffee table for a roll of medical tape. When she was facing him again he swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, barely managing to speak at all. He let his gaze flicker over her face.

"I know you are," she said. Her hands rested in her lap and she wasn't fidgeting anymore. She just seemed tired. "I'm sorry too."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing. Ryan looked up when Sandy walked into the room. Kirsten stood and stepped to his side.

"Sit down," Sandy said to Ryan. "We need to talk about your punishment."

Ryan nodded and sat back on the couch. Sandy and Kirsten stood over him, Sandy with his hands buried in his pants pockets, Kirsten with her arms crossed over her chest. Ryan was stuck between them and he didn't know where to look.

"We think a month is reasonable," Sandy said. Ryan's head bobbed up at that.

"A month?" he asked.

"I know that sounds like a long time, but this is serious," Sandy said.

Ryan frowned, confused.

"We're grounding you for a month," Kirsten said. "No TV. No Playstation. No-"

"You're grounding me?" Ryan interrupted, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"Look, I know it probably doesn't seem fair, considering everything that's happened," Sandy started to explain.

"No, yeah, it's fine," Ryan said. "I've just never, you know, been grounded."

"Your mom never grounded you?" Kirsten asked.

"She's not much of a disciplinarian," Ryan said. "In the, um, traditional sense."

"Oh," Kirsten said.

"Well, so okay, this is a first," Sandy said, quickly regaining his composure. "You come straight home after school, every day. No weekends. No dates. No movies with Seth."

"For a month," Kirsten said.

They both watched him seriously, so he nodded, feeling weak with relief. Grounding was not dangerous. It wasn't permanent. It wasn't being sent away, or told he was no good, or being hurt and humiliated.

"Okay," he said.

"Okay," Sandy repeated, and after studying Ryan for a moment, he returned to the kitchen.

Ryan and Kirsten followed him, Kirsten heading to the counter to finish slicing oranges. Sandy replaced Seth at the stove, and when Seth turned around, Ryan got his first good look at the damage he'd done. Seth was bruised in deep blue and black along his chin and under his left eye, which was nearly swollen shut. Ryan looked away, the guilt washing over him again.

"I'm sorry," he said when Seth was standing in front of him.

"I know. It's okay."

"How can it be okay?" Ryan asked quietly.

"Hey," Seth said, and before Ryan could back away Seth folded him into a hug. Startled at first by the sudden contact, Ryan stood very still for a moment, his back and shoulders rigid. But when Seth didn't let go right away Ryan relaxed, then closed his eyes and returned the hug. Seth squeezed him once and pulled away.

"We're like brothers, right? That's why it's okay."

"You sure?" Ryan said. "We're cool?"

Seth laughed and punched Ryan lightly on the shoulder.

"Yeah, we're cool. Of course we're cool."

Seth opened the cupboard over Ryan's head and took out a stack of plates, and together they set the table. Sandy was the last to sit down, after carrying over a platter of pancakes and bacon.

"So how long did they give you?" Seth asked, spearing two pancakes and dumping them on his plate. When Ryan didn't answer right away, Seth glanced up at him. "You're grounded, right?"

"A month," Ryan said.

"That's all?" Seth asked, and Ryan couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "Dude, I got like a week and I didn't even do anything."

"You know you're not supposed to take the car without permission," Kirsten said. "Can you pass the syrup, Ryan?"

Ryan handed her the syrup then looked back up at Seth.

"You're grounded too?"

"Yeah," Seth said. He was slathering his pancakes with butter. "I can't believe you only got a month."

"Seth," Sandy said, and Ryan recognized a warning to shut up.

"He beat me up. That's totally like a two-month offense. At least."

"Seth," Kirsten warned, echoing Sandy.

"What? Is it too soon? We aren't ready to joke yet?"

Sandy and Kirsten both pierced him with glares.

"Okay, okay," Seth said, waving a fork in one hand and a knife in the other. "Sorry."

Ryan blinked at his own empty plate, not sure whether he should laugh or run from the table. He heard Sandy ask Kirsten about another trip to Home Depot, and was vaguely aware of Seth teasing them about it, but he tuned out the conversation until it was a gentle jumble of noise in the background, warm and comforting.

He still couldn't quite keep up with this family, was still intimidated by their dance. Part of him still wanted to run to the pool house, or even back to Chino. But Ryan picked up his fork and stabbed at a pancake instead. He chewed slowly and studied the faces around the table as they shared their animated conversation. He didn't look down, at least not right away, when Sandy caught his eye and smiled. These people would never replace the Atwoods; they would never really be his mother or father or brother. But they were his family and he wasn't going anywhere.

-End

Author's last note: Thanks again to Maud for the excellent beta work, especially the last-minute, late-night word wrangling. Also, since a few people have asked…the challenge that inspired this story was to write a (hopefully believable) scenario where Ryan hits Seth. Mission accomplished?


End file.
